Witi Ihimaera - Uncle's Story

‘I’ll get you the house special,’ Turei said, his eyes mischievous. He signalled to the bar owner and pointed to the barrel. ‘Hey, bring us some of your special wine! My pal wants to have a drink.’

The bar owner filled a glass with the snake wine, and George swallowed it down in a second.

‘What’s it taste like?’ Turei asked.

‘Isn’t it what you guys are having? Isn’t it home-made vodka?’ George asked. He downed another glass.

Turei gave Sam an evil wink.

‘While we’re here, we may as well eat,’ he said.

Sam went to warn George but Turei kicked him in the shins.

‘It’s on me,’ Turei said.

He ushered George away to a table so that he couldn’t see the bar owner taking one of the fat brown snakes from the barrel.

Five minutes later, the bar owner placed a plate in front of George. On it lay chopped chunks of meat, brown on top and striped cream and black underneath, fried and doused in a thick sauce.

‘Aren’t you guys eating?’ George asked.

‘We’ve eaten,’ Turei replied quickly.

‘You sure you don’t want any more? This steak is great.’

‘Er, no thanks.’

Sam watched with a queasy stomach as George ate and drank.

‘You like?’ the bar owner asked. ‘You want more?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ George answered.

The bar owner brought the barrel to the table. Turei started to shake with mirth. The bar owner picked up two snakes.

‘Which one? Brown? Or striped?’

‘Oh, you bastard,’ George said to Turei as he threw up.

By ten, the whole of the red-light district was going up like a rocket. George and Turei were half drunk and singing ‘Ten Guitars’ and Sam was in the middle, holding both of them up. They joined up with some other Kiwis and headed for MADAME GODZILLA’S. The place was really jumping. There, after a tussle with some Aussies, including the red-headed guy who’d been eyeballing Turei ever since arriving in Vietnam, they scored a table.

‘You and me, Hori,’ the red-head said, ‘one day we’ll have a go one on one together.’

‘Any time, any place,’ Turei replied.

All of a sudden, through the haze, Sam saw Cliff Harper with his chopper colleague, Fox. They were coming with some girls from the back room. As they pushed aside the beaded curtain and returned to the bar, they were greeted with whistles and grunting noises. Laughing, Fox slapped Harper on the back and made him the focus of the applause. Harper grinned.

Some pretty hot sex had been going on in the back room. Even now, two of the girls were fighting for Harper’s attention. Good-humouredly, he put up his hands: ‘No, ladies, I’ll call it a night.’

The girls were persistent. There was a firm glint in Harper’s eyes as he tried to underline his answer.

‘Then perhaps you want to dance?’

Harper was diplomatic. But after a while, as more girls pressed in on him, frustration showed in his face. He’d had his sex and now he wanted to drink with his pals. And then Sam saw Harper’s fingers moving in a strange way.

Get out of my face, willya?

Sam was taken aback. Harper was signing, in the language normally used among the deaf. Luckily for Harper, some of his chopper mates were willing to take charge of the girls, who flowed away from him as he slumped down in his chair and put his head in his hands. His fingers moved again in sign.

God, Johnny, I’m so bored.

Harper took a swig of his beer. He looked disinterestedly around the bar. Across the room he saw Sam; he squinted his eyes just to make sure, and smiled. He was just about to look away when, impishly, Sam moved his fingers.

Who’s Johnny?

Beer sprayed from Harper’s mouth. He put his glass down in astonishment.

You can read me?

Didn’t you know? Sign language, like basketball, is a Maori tradition.

Harper started to grin.

Now let me guess. I suppose you were taught it by Mormon missionaries?

You got it. Are you with friends?

Yes. You too?

There was a sudden increase in the noise and smoke. Harper gestured helplessly and then made jabbing motions.

The noise in here is too loud. Meet me outside. I wanna talk.

Sam nodded. He grabbed his beer and told George he was going for some air. He pushed and shoved through the crowd, getting love pats all the way, and finally broke free into the street. He watched as Harper extricated himself from his friends and joined him. For a moment the two men stood there, looking at the stars. It didn’t feel awkward. It felt right not to talk. It felt good just to be. Sometimes there was no need to fill the air with words.

‘So who’s Johnny?’ Sam began.

‘My kid brother,’ Harper answered. ‘He was born deaf and dumb. Mom and Dad and the rest of us had to learn how to sign so we could talk to him.’

‘The rest of us?’

‘I’m a mid-Western boy. From Illinois. My Dad has a farm a few hours out of Chicago. I’ve got two older sisters, Gloria and June, much older than me. But Mum wanted boys, so poor old Dad had to keep on trying until it happened. I came along twelve years after June, and then Johnny a couple of years later to keep me company. I got to know how to sign so well that in the end Mum and Dad gave up on it and whenever they wanted to talk to him they’d say to me, “Cliff, tell your brother this,” or “Cliff, tell your brother that.” By that stage, however, we were in our teens and he had learnt how to read their lips. But we loved talking together in our own way and it got so bad that it used to annoy the hell out of everyone. “What are you two boys talking about?” Mom would ask. Or June would say, “Are you talking behind my back, Johnny Harper?” I tell you, we had such fun, Johnny and me.’ Harper’s face creased into an expression halfway between happiness and yearning. ‘I miss talking to Johnny. I miss talking to him in our secret language. Sometimes, like back there in the bar, I forget myself and sign as if he’s there. Instead, it was you. ’

Harper ran his fingers through his hair. Gleams of gold scattered through the night.

‘I don’t usually shoot my mouth off like this,’ Harper continued. ‘So how about you? How did you learn how to sign?’

‘You know those Mormon elders? One of them, Elder Crowe, coached us in basketball and American gridiron —’

‘You mean you were serious? You’re kidding me!’

‘Kidding you? Man, if you and your helicopter mates want to try to take me, George and Turei out in football you’ll be wasted again — and you’ll be my bitch.’

Cliff Harper spat on his hands. ‘You’re on. But what about the signing?’

‘Well, Elder Crowe was partially deaf and dumb. You know how it is. His words were sometimes kinda thick and knotted, and difficult for the guys in the team to understand. Because I was captain of the team, I learnt to sign and was able to pass on the instructions. Sometimes, just to get Elder Crowe going, I didn’t pass on what he wanted. I remember one game I told the guys what I wanted them to do! Only I made out it had come from him. I sure got it in the neck when we lost.’

Cliff Harper roared with laughter. He leaned back and breathed out.

‘God it’s good to laugh. I mean, really laugh. This war takes it all away and before you know it you’ve forgotten so many things. Like, I’ve suddenly remembered, you know it’ll be the end of Fall right now at Back of the Moon —’

‘Back of the Moon?’

‘The name of the farm,’ Harper answered. ‘The trees that were a blaze of orange and red will have lost their leaves. The cold wind will be coming down slow and easy from the north, just cold enough to snap the steam of your breath as it leaves your mouth. My Dad and Johnny will have taken the cattle to their winter feed in the high country. Soon the snow will come and the blizzards and sleet. We had a grizzly killed some of our cattle last year. I had the sights on it but, wouldn’t you just know it, the rifle froze up on me and jammed. By the time I got the bolt working again that grizzly had gone. I put the dogs on it, but they couldn’t make any headway through the snow. The snow gets to pile up higher than a man. It’ll be up to Johnny to get that grizzly if it comes again. Thank God he missed the draft because of his disability —’ Harper swallowed hard. ‘But there I go again,’ he said ruefully, ‘talking up a storm.’